by S. E. Green
Yes, something is definitely not right. I cross out of our yard and back toward the driveway, and lifting up on my toes, I peak into the garage window and see Victor’s SUV there. He’s home.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and shoot off a quick: DAD, ARE YOU IN THE HOUSE? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DARK?
I wait several minutes, but no return text comes back. That’s not like him. He always returns my texts. I shoot Daisy one next, then Justin, and I get nothing back from them either.
Shit, this isn’t good. I wonder if this is how my victims feel—trapped, confused, hopeless.
Well, I might be confused but I refuse to feel the other two. I backtrack to my Jeep and from my Aikido bag, I get my bokken. The last time I really used it was with Catalina, and that memory should unsettle me, but it serves only to bolster me.
With it gripped tightly in my hand, I make my way back up the front steps. As quietly as I can, I slip my key in and click it left, slowly opening the door.
It’s completely dark in here, with only a sliver of moonlight trickling in through the blinds across the room. I step further in, and something to my right shifts. I don’t wait to see, to ask, to nothing, I swing out with my bokken and hear a satisfying crack.
“Shit!” Someone screams.
All the lights flick on and people jump out of everywhere shouting a resounding, “Surprise!”
It takes me a second to register the birthday balloons and banner, and several people rushing to help Victor, who I just cracked with my bokken.
“Oh my God,” I drop to my knees next to him. “I’m so sorry.”
With a grimace, he grips his forearm. “Glad to know all those Aikido lessons have paid off.”
Someone runs to get an ice pack. Someone else helps Victor up. I walk with him over to the couch. Then the ice pack appears and I take it, laying it gently over his forearm.
Now several minutes later the party has resumed and I’m still sitting beside Victor while I eye the people packed into our downstairs. I spy neighbors, kids I went to school with, my family, Patch and Paw workers (including the annoying doctor), the D.A., Adam, and Tommy.
Tommy’s standing over in the corner, idly listening to my neighbor yammer on and on, wearing the same “kill me now” expression that I know I must be sporting.
I don’t know who thought a party was a good idea, but I doubt it was my family. They know me well enough to know, I don’t do parties.
Victor shifts the ice pack off and gives his arm a little twist. I cringe. “Any better?”
He smiles. “I’ll survive. You were certainly freaked, huh?”
“To put it lightly.”
“Adam was dead set on this,” Victor tells me, “and I didn’t have the heart to say no.”
So, Adam’s the culprit. “When did he plan this?”
“A while ago.”
Before we parted ways then, which puts him here out of obligation. I glance across the room and into the kitchen where he’s currently serving himself from the buffet of wings, chips, and hot dogs. At least he got the food right. I’m all about a good mustard dog.
He glances up then, as if sensing my gaze, but he doesn’t give me any sign of recognition or acknowledgment. That’s fine. He can go through the motions of this party and then be out of my life.
“Might want to smile,” Victor mumbles, “and at least fake a party face.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I take a sip of punch that someone brought me, and I make my lips curve up. These people are here for me and that’s nice, even if Adam’s the one who organized it.
While I understand birthday parties are a part of human ritual, I’ve never understood the need for them. It’s just a bunch of people standing around waiting on a cake to be cut and to make an exit. I mean, who really wants to go to a birthday party? Don’t they have anything better to do? I know I do.
In my back pocket, my phone buzzes and I slip it out to see.
CAREFUL, YOUR FACE MIGHT FREEZE THAT WAY. This is the text that comes in from Tommy and it brings a genuine smile to my lips. I wish he was over here next to me and not standing in the corner.
WANT TO SEE MY BEDROOM? I text back because I need a break from this scene.
UM…
MEET ME AT THE STAIRS. I turn to Victor. “I’m going to show Tommy the upstairs. I won’t be long.”
He nods. “Okay, and when you get a chance, I’d like to meet him. I hear you two are official?”
I put my punch down on the coffee table. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Adam.”
Of course.
“Only a few minutes,” Victor says. “We have candles to blow out and a cake to cut.”
“Oh joy.”
Victor laughs and gives me a little nudge. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
As I make my way around the crowd and not through it, someone cranks up the music. I hear a whoop-whoop and Dr. O’Neal starts twerking. Good God.
With Tommy right behind me, I can’t get up the stairs fast enough. I need a break from the party, sure, but I need a groping session with him even more.
I swing open my bedroom door, not bothering to hide my impatience, and as soon as I step inside I turn to grab Tommy, and he pushes me up against the wall instead. With his foot, he kicks the door closed and his mouth crashes to mine.
His fingers thread through my hair, gripping tight, and we’re so on the same page. There are no soft kisses. It’s lips and tongue and teeth. When he pulls on my hair, I moan, and he takes that as a cue to move forward.
He lifts me up by my hips, and I wrap my legs around him, squeezing hard. He slides his hands around to cup my backside, and I arch out from the wall.
My hands wrap around his shoulders, and my fingertips dig into the muscles there, and when he presses into me, a fiery need barrels down my spine.
Tommy pushes firmer into me, and I cling to him, completely wrapped up in him. As I match his kiss, it wrings every bit of myself out of me, and I’m replaced with something softer.
Our kiss slows then, going from demanding to exploratory. His breath comes warm against my mouth, and I relish every slide of our tongues. My arms loosen and now that I’m not locked against him, the rise and fall of our breath brings on a sensual rocking as we rub against each other.
All thoughts are abandoned as he slips his hand under my shirt and up my spine, stroking me, touching me, and I melt into him, stretching like a cat. Now, this is how I’d rather be spending my birthday.
I open lazy eyes to look at him. I wish we had the luxury of taking this further, but my party rages on downstairs.
As if on cue, Daisy bangs on my door. “Zip it up and get back downstairs. Cake time.”
My legs disengage from Tommy’s hips, and he takes a second to look around my room. He’s seen it before when he broke in and took my serial killer journals, but that’s ancient history now. That was back when was trying to figure out what I was hiding. Now, though, he thinks The Decapitator was my uncle. Everyone thinks that.
“Looks different from this angle.”
“What angle is that?” I tease.
His lips twitch. “The angle that says I’m allowed to be in here.”
I open the door and Daisy is right there, grinning. She looks from me to Tommy and back to me. “Aaawww. Lane and Tommy sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
Rolling my eyes, I give her a little shove, but I’m happy to see her like this. She’s been so to herself lately.
Back downstairs, Dr. O’Neal has thankfully stopped twerking and Adam is standing on a stool. When he spies me, he sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, and everyone quiets down.
He clears his throat, and I’m more than curious to see what he says. “As you all know, we are here today to celebrate Lane turning eighteen. I’ve only known Lane for a little while, but our friendship has made a lasting impression on me.”
This gets a few chuckles from the crowd.
“The thin
g about a true friend is that they are always honest with each other and they can not only appreciate but also see past differences. They can fight and still forgive. Lane, in the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve learned so much from you.” Adam lifts his punch glass. “So here’s to you on this special day.”
Everyone cheers and toasts, and I put yet another smile on my face, but my gaze never leaves Adam’s as he takes a sip of his punch, his gaze never leaving mine as well. There’s something calculating in his stare, and I recognize the depths. He and I share more than one secret, secrets that I’m afraid are going to force one of our hands.
I’m kidding myself if I think it’s as simple as cutting ties. This party right here is proof. And with Victor and the D.A. over on the couch, talking and laughing, I have a feeling our lives are only going to become more and more entwined.
Dealing with Adam requires finesse. I can’t just make him go away. It’s not like he’s some homeless kid that no one will miss. If I am going to permanently take action, and I’m not completely to that point yet, but if I do get to that point, it’ll need to be pinned on someone else.
As I think all of this, I’m still staring into his eyes, and I know that shrewd look. He’s thinking the exact same thing.
Daisy slides up beside me. “What’s going on with the two of them?”
My gaze slides off of Adam and over to Victor and the D.A. “You know they were friends in high school, right? I think they probably even dated.”
Daisy’s face hardens. “What is Dad doing? Mom’s not even been dead a year.”
“They’re just talking.”
The D.A. slides her hand over Victor’s knee and gives it a little squeeze, and they both laugh.
“What the hell?” Daisy starts to take a step forward, and I grab her arm.
“Leave them alone. Let Dad have some laughter.”
Daisy jerks her arm from my grasp. “This was Mom’s house. He needs to show respect. Plus, look at her. Mom was way prettier and better and everything.”
“Mom wasn’t perfect.”
Daisy shoots me an angry look. “Yes, she was.”
I keep my calm. “No, she wasn’t.”
“I want to be exactly like her.”
“No, you don’t.” I don’t bother reminding her that she fought with Mom on a daily basis.
Daisy eyes me hard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that…there’re things you don’t know.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I regret it.
The anger fades from my sister’s face, and it’s replaced by something tragic and confused. “Wh…” her blue eyes tear up. “What are you talking about?”
Our little brother bounds up beside us, cell phone in hand. “Birthday selfie!”
We indulge Justin, leaning down into the frame, and he snaps a pic that he then forwards to both of us. Over the years our pictures mirror the same thing—Justin with his little boy glow, Daisy and her sweet grin, and me and my blank expression. But this time when I pull up the pic, Justin’s the one with the sweet grin, I’ve managed a soft glow, and Daisy has taken on the blankness.
A blankness I caused.
57
DAISY LOOKS UP from the bloody knife she holds in her hand.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
“There are no words to describe it. The sound of the blade cutting in. The sound of the screaming. I was someone else.”
My eyes open, and I stare once again at the ceiling of my bedroom. It’s daylight out and a quick check of my bedside clock shows seven in the morning. That’s two hours later than I usually sleep. I hear my family moving around beyond my door, and I wonder if they think I’m dead.
I don’t know why I’m having so many dreams and begin to question my clear conscious theory. Maybe a conscious—clear or otherwise—has nothing to do with sleep. Though I like thinking they’re connected because I rarely dream which should mean I have nothing to feel guilty about.
I should have never told Daisy what I did about Mom, and I know it was selfish. But I want someone else to hate Mom as much as I do. I want someone else to realize she was not a good person.
And that dream, obviously made up, is still unsettling.
Daisy stayed by my side the rest of the birthday party, bugging me to tell her what I knew. I finally got rid of her during clean up and came up here to my room. When I locked my door, she started texting me. Texts I didn’t return.
I’m going to have to come clean, with at least something. A little something. Enough to satisfy and justify my comment.
Sitting up in bed, I swing my legs over and it comes to me. I know exactly what I’m going to tell her.
I find Daisy in the bathroom brushing her teeth, and picking up my toothbrush, I begin brushing mine. Downstairs I hear Victor and Justin in the kitchen, so I know we have privacy.
Daisy watches me in the mirror, scrubbing away, eyeing me as I brush mine. Her blue eyes, so much like Mom’s, narrow in on me, and I know she’s pissed. I divert my gaze, staring at myself for a few seconds while I gather my thoughts. My tongue feels unusually thick, like if I speak it’ll come out mumbled. I don’t know how she’s going to take this, but here it goes.
I spit out my paste and rinse, and she does the same. I take a few seconds to wash my face with cool water and dry, then with a glance over my shoulder, I close the door, and I lean up against the counter and fold my arms. She’s got the vent on from her recent shower, and I know the white noise will cover our voices.
“What I’m about to tell you stays between you and me.” I look her dead in the eyes. “You understand?”
She wipes her hands on a gray towel, then turns, matching my stance against the counter. I study her expression, seeing exactly what I was hoping for—maturity and understanding.
“Yes,” she quietly assures me. “I understand.”
I take a breath. Here goes nothing. “Back when we were cleaning out the house after Mom died, I came across a key to a locker at the Dunn Loring Station. I didn’t tell anyone about the key because I had this weird sense that Mom was hiding something. I went to that locker and I opened it, and inside I found a box. In that box were pictures and love letters between her and a man who wasn’t Dad.” Some of that is true, some is false, but it’s enough to satisfy my comment from last night.
Daisy doesn’t react. She just keeps looking at me, and the air between us becomes blanketed by her silence. “Do you still have them?” she finally speaks.
“No,” I truthfully say. “I burned them in the cremation room at Patch and Paw.”
“So you’re saying Mom was having an affair?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
With a sigh, she drops her gaze and I wait a few seconds, trying to get a read on her. Interesting enough, I can’t. I can’t tell if she’s angry or confused or what.
I say, “You understand this has to stay between you and me. It will kill Dad if he ever finds out.”
Daisy lifts her eyes to mine, then she turns and grips the edge of the sink. She spends a few seconds looking down at the drain and I watch her, trying again to gauge her mood, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“What a bitch,” she says, and it takes me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that. She pushes away from the sink and turns to look at me again. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, lying again. “The love letters were signed with initials and first names only. And the pictures, I didn’t recognize the man.”
“Someone from the FBI?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think he lives around here?”
Another shrug. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
Daisy blows out another breath, shaking her head, and I see it then—the disappointment, the hate. “I really don’t like Mom right now.”
“I know. Daisy, you can’t say any—”
She holds up her hand. “You can count on me, I won’t s
ay a word.”
I nod. “Okay.” I wait to see if she wants to say anything else, but she doesn’t speak, so I think things are over. I go to open the door, and Daisy stops me to give me a quick hug.
“Thank you for trusting me with that information.”
I hug her back, wondering how that conversation would have gone if I had told her the rest.
Daisy pulls back, and a small beautiful smile softens her face. “Despite all of this, do you think Mom would be proud of the people we’re becoming?”
That question seems to come out of nowhere, but I quickly reply, “Yes, she would be especially proud of the fact we’re friends now.” That much I know is true.
Daisy chuckles. “Yeah, look at us.”
A smile inches into my lips. “Yeah, look at us.”
58
THE THING ABOUT being friends with someone is that you learn their schedule. Like that Reggie is a night owl and will happily text you back at two in the morning. Or that Tommy works every Tuesday night at Whole Foods past closing at eleven to count stock. Or that Adam has dinner with his Uncle Judge Penn the first and third Wednesday of every month.
We haven’t seen, texted, or talked to each other since the birthday party weeks ago and, truthfully, I’m in Penn’s courtroom hoping to run into Adam. Hoping to look into his eyes and get another read on him.
Except for this Wednesday, he doesn’t show.
In my Jeep, I backtrack to his house and do a slow drive by, but his old Chevy is gone. I do spy Sally, the puppy, cheerily barking and doing her watchdog job. Good job, Sally.
I’ve been doing checks on Mr. Strangler and decide today is as good as any. I make my way across town to the building where Mr. Strangler works, and I spy his vehicle parked in the lot. I do a visual sweep of the area, and I see the same unmarked car I’ve seen a few times now.
Mr. Strangler is under surveillance.
Next, I go to the condominium building where Mr. Strangler lives. Since I don’t have Adam and the D.A. as my inside source, I’ve been keeping up with the case through my new inside source—Daisy and her old boyfriend, West, the younger brother of Mrs. Garner.